Shadows of the Past
by Elenya
Summary: *rewritten! i fixed up some things.. ^^ last into, i promise!* Isilvende is a young girl with no memories. All she has is the mark of Aqualonde, but why?
1. A Deathbed Plea

Disclaimer: Hey all! I know you pretty much already know what I'm going to say, so I'll try not to bore you with the stupid stuff.  
  
I DON'T own LoTR, or any of the characters. I just happen to be a girl in love with Elves, and with an imagination that's bound to get me in trouble one day. ^^;;; So please, dun sue me. You wouldn't get much anyhow, perhaps some pocket lint and a bottle of hotel shampoo.  
  
And one little bit of info I need to add. The timeline in this story is way off from what Tolkien originally wrote, and had intended for LoTR. It's my own timeline, and the mess-up is intended. So, with all this in mind, please enjoy my story. Comments are welcome, just... No flaming. It makes me cry. Lol  
  
  
  
  
  
Prologue:  
  
*~Some things. are not meant to be forgotten~*  
  
The tide rose and fell as the young child watched the waves, her rapid breathing mingling harshly with it's calm, rythmatic movements. Her eyes were cold, sad. She had no hope, no reason to go, no reason to move from this spot. Her home was gone. Her family, her King. her father was gone, plucked like a weed from this worldly coil which he so endearingly called life. She was alone.  
  
Her sputtering breaths stabbed at her lungs like tiny knives, the pain in the intake of the cool sea air just too much for her weak body to handle. The attack had been devastating, and she knew-she was going to die.  
  
She let her crystal gaze fall upon her breast, and the cold-grey steal that peeked from it like a tiny worm from it's hole in the sand. She knew of the poison that had little more time to work it's way through her body before it would slowly, and painfully of course, take her life. But she was not afraid. Oh no, on the contrary. At least, she could be home again, reunited with all that had been lost to the evil of the men who had attacked her home. She was ready.  
  
Of course.  
  
The calming sounds of the waves did not cease, as the arrow rose and fell with each unsteady breath. "Father, father how I failed you." A tiny sob escaped her lips as she raised her eyes to the dawn. "I let our people die- shamefully, I. I... I." Another rack of pain shot upwards through her spine, like ice working it's way to her brain. "I did nothing to stop it. I am not fit to be crown Princess. I am sorry."  
  
The pain was coming in waves now, but she could feel her body slowly start to numb. She had yet to realize just how long she had been sitting there on that rock by the sea, or just how long she had been weeping a lament for all those she had led to pain. But as she felt the cold chill of the sea air being replaced by a comfortable, calming lack of feeling, she knew she was close. The end was drawing near-she had naught much longer to wait.  
  
"I'm coming to join you, my King. Please, wait for me."  
  
The One Lady closed her eyes.  
  
~Lanta Kaima.~  
  
And all was dark. 


	2. Of Ladies and Laundry

Disclaimer: I don't own Legolas. Don't sue me. Simple, right? ^^  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One:  
  
*1,200 years later.*  
  
"Oh, how I could do for a swim about now.!" The Elf maiden stretched her arms wide and raised her chin to the intense warmth of the sun above. "Such glorious warmth, this day!"  
  
Her companion giggled slightly as she continued to run clothes up and down the wooden washboard. "Ah, but has High Lord Ilùvatar not blessed us with such a day?" She smiled and turned, almost losing her grip on the material in her hands. "After all, we have had such harsh rains for many a week. It is about time the sun show us his brilliant face!"  
  
Sellmenel just nodded her agreement, returning to her washing. "Aye, aye."  
  
It was, indeed, a lovely day, worthy of the glory of the forest of Mirkwood. The sunlight glistening like jewels upon the damp leaves, the lush greenery and pastel flowers finally making their appearance superimposed to the ever-lasting rains of the past days. It was beautiful, and the two washmaids, ever vigilant to their work, could not help but gaze longing out into the lushness of the forest.  
  
"I'm sure that the wash could wait a bit." Sellmenel glanced at her companion who, through her desperate attempts at hiding it, could not mask her similar wish. "We would return quickly-"  
  
Lalavendë looked back. "A quick trip to the springs?" She laughed slightly and continued scrubbing, though slower this time. "There is no such trip."  
  
The birds were singing gaily, but they did little to calm the Elf-maid's mind as she continued to pester gently. "But Lala," As was her friend's shortened name. The long names of Elves in the forest of Mirkwood were quite a breath-stealer, and if one was to try to even remember the entire village's worth of names, they would quite be driven to insanity. And so, almost every person in the town was confined to a nickname beyond their birth; well, besides those higher class who believed themselves to be Descendants of the Valar*, and demanded their full names be recognized by the common people. But other than that, you would hardly ever speak the full name of a Greenwood Elf. "it is sweltering! I can barely keep my simple mind upon the task at hand!" She laughed and tossed down her wash. "And what is more useless than a heat-wrought maid?!"  
  
Lala paused momentarily, but smiled gently. "I can think of nothing more." She took a glance in both directions and, content with seeing no one near but the warrior guards at the town entrance and a few she-Elves doing menial flower-tending and washing, she too dropped her articles to be washed and wiped her hands upon her dress. "But only as we make this a quick trip! I would hate his Lordship to find two lazy Elves at the springs with so much wash to be done!"  
  
At this, both of the maidens laughed and hurried off towards the springs.  
  
(*Descendants of the Valar is intended to mean someone who thinks themselves to be higher than everyone else. Stuck up, I guess you could say.)  
  
*****  
  
~Awaken my child, from your broken cradle. Your terrors are past, and the love you once lost, will now be entranced with new life, and a chance to regain what has been unrightfully stolen. Awaken, fated child. the dream is not going~  
  
Isilvendë raised her head gently, trying to ignore the nagging pain that shot through her body as she did so. The sun was painfully bright, and try as she might, she could not seem to get herself to focus.  
  
"Ffffrrrggg." Her eyes widened at her vain attempt at speech, as it came out a mere grumble, almost like that her stomach was protesting, as she had no idea since when she had last eaten. She heard yet another grumble, and let herself once more collapse to the ground in submission.  
  
"Ffff.Ffff.Faa-" It was useless. Apparently, her vocal chords just were NOT happy with her right now. It almost felt like. she has never spoken before in her life. Her throat was raw and dry, and with each breath she drew in, she could feel her vocal folds tighten in anticipation. She knew not what was wrong, but that something was, indeed.  
  
She once again tried to pull her body up from the damp ground - her white, well, it WAS white, dress was stained with rain and dirt, and apparently many other elements that had found her in her deep rest, and her shoeless feet were blackened with caked-on mud and scratched to blood. Her entire being ached, as though she herself were the embodiment of pain. Her limbs were stiff and creaked with every shift of her torso, and her skin was tight as though she had aged, but her containing body had not.  
  
She glanced down at herself, and she slowly drew her head up from the dirt and coughed. Her body was filthy, and she was covered head to toe in what seemed to be some sort of plant matter. Green and sticky, she could only imagine how long she must have been lying there.  
  
"Whe-where." Aha! A word! Wait, was that something to be proud of? She shook her head slightly, dreading the nagging discomfort she knew this motion would bring. "Where.. am I.?"  
  
The world spun as she slowly hoisted herself onto the protruding roots of a large willow tree, propping her sore back against it's hearty bark. Her vision was still rather blurry, but by the colors and sounds around her, she guessed that her domain was, in fact, a forest of some sort. Though, this did little in aiding her in finding out just which forest it was. There were many, and seeing as though she had just awoken, she could be just about anywhere. But these thoughts were the least of her worries at the moment.  
  
Just as quickly as it had gone, she felt the drowsy blackness encircling her once more, like a soft woolen blanket being placed over a her. Comforting, soft and promising, she just wished to curl up and resume her nap. And try as she might to fight it, she felt herself fall once more into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
Woot! Yes, I know. "Short Chapter, ya biznatch!", right? LoL ^^ Well, I intend to write a much longer chapter next time, I do promise! So never fear! (And yes, I promise that there will be a LOT more action in the next chapter, as well as an intro by all of our fav. LoTR characters!) I do, however, request any sorts of comments or reviews from readers. I like to know if you're enjoying my stories, and it helps with my inspiration! ^^  
  
Ah, and one more thing. Some of my "muse" for my earlier quotes come from Final Fantasy VIII, Liberi Fatali. It's the opening song, "Fated Children". So that doesn't belong to be either. ^^ 


	3. A Stranger in the Woods

Disclaimer:  
  
Elenya: Dun sue me!  
  
Aragorn: Don't sue her!  
  
Boromir: Do not sue the stupid girl!  
  
Frodo: Suing is mean. Let's all be happy!!  
  
Sam: Sue. is that a type of radish?  
  
Pippin: WOOHOO! Pints for everyone!  
  
Gimli: Sue and I'll hack you to pieces!  
  
Gollum: No. sue.. my prescioussssssssssssss....  
  
Legolas: I'm pretty! ::sparkle::  
  
All: ::cricket effect::  
  
  
  
Chapter Two:  
  
There was impending darkness upon the kingdom, as the typical hustle and bustle of Mirkwood began to die down. The hour was growing late, and evening was making it's debut with dark purple satin and cool breezes as a lament for the day played upon silver flutes in the distance.  
  
The people slowly made their way to their homes, either carrying bundles of goods from the markets in tiny satchels of green fabric, or just wandering to and fro admiring the beauty of the sunset. Either way, the decibel level of speech and barter, of man and beast was considerably low, which was exactly the Elf prince's intention as he cautiously stalked off the palace grounds and into the streets.  
  
Legolas's soft boots made nary a sound as he padded gently down the grassy roads and trampled paths of his kingdom. His eyes were sharp as he walked, his bow swung neatly yet lethargically over one slim shoulder. This trip was a typical event, one which the noble Elf made almost religiously on such glorious evenings as this. It was an escape from the drab, yet stressing chore of being nobility, one which he took advantage of as often as he could afford. One that he was in special need of on this Eve of daybreak.  
  
Sighing gently, he padded on into the soft, beckoning darkness. The air was clear and cool, and he welcomed each breath he drew with a tiny smile. The gentle tinkling of the waterfalls that bounded the front gate, the ivies that swung gracefully from nearly ever bar or hall within eyeshot, and even the small butterflies that flitted from flower to flower, making their last stops before turning themselves in for the night, it was all so soothing, so coddling to his senses. He treasured this moment, each movement and sound as he walked onward, almost totally ignorant to the woman following quickly at his heels.  
  
His earlier audience with his father, High Lord and ruler of Mirkwood and the Silvan peoples of the realm of Greenwood, earlier in the day was a good deal of the reason he was out now, blanketed by the thick satin of evening and lost to anything but his thoughts and inner turmoil. His mind bogged down and stretched with thought, all he heard over the running streams was his father demanding to know why his son had not yet chosen a bride.  
  
"You are nearly 25*, Legolas!" Thranduil had nearly screamed, his face clearly portraying his exasperation with the flaxen-haired boy. "And also heir to the throne! Why it is that you have not chosen one of the Elven maids that I have continually placed before you is... is.. ..gah!" He threw his arms into the air with a huff.  
  
Legolas had said nothing, but stood, head bowed, eyes troubled. It was true, his father had done all in his power to assist his son in finding true love. Balls, dances, parties, drinks and festivals with nearly every royal family within a hundred miles. And yet, nothing. Every maiden placed before the Prince was beautiful, that much was true. And very regal, with grace that was unsurpassed by any other creature imaginable. But when it came to it, they were all lacking. He wasn't quite sure what, but there was indeed something missing from each and every one. And much to the dismay of the King-  
  
Legolas had rejected every one of them.  
  
"Prince Legolas."  
  
And so his father had continued his flaring and fuming, until he was quite sure he had made his point. He had sent his son away, to think over his misgivings, and hopefully gain some sense over a night's rest. Legolas had left, but with no chance of rest. Indeed, he had instead come to be at the outskirts of the realm of the Woodland Elves, in hopes of easing his mind and losing himself in the quiet sincerity of nature.  
  
"Prince Legolas."  
  
He had no more taken a step from the ivied gates of the forest town, than a soft, almost childish voice rang out from behind him. Lost in thought, he had barely heard the tranquil voice, almost painfully imitating that of the running water, from not far beyond. He looked up just in time to see a washmaid, apparently the source of the voice, prostrate herself before him, noticeably abused and shaken. Her breathing was ragged, as were her robes and her apron, and it seemed as though she was truly fighting unconsciousness.  
  
"Highness." The blonde Elf woman dropped to her knees before the prince, her hair, tossed from it's traditional braid, swishing madly in thick strands behind her. "Oh, thank Ilùvatar!"  
  
Breathing hard, she remained there for many a moment, hand upon her breast apparently trying her best to catch her wind. Legolas placed a firm, yet porcelain hand upon her shoulder and smiled, helping her to her feet. His bow slid from it's place on his shoulder and hit the ground with a padded thud, settling gently on the thick carpet of emerald grass.  
  
"No need for such formality, maiden." His eyes wandered curiously across the scratches and tears in her robes and milky skin, and slowly made their way to meet her obviously worry-stricken ones in deep concern. "But do tell me, what ails you so? Perhaps I might lend my aide."  
  
Her voice so low that only the sharp ears of an Elf could hear, she whispered something that not even the prince himself could have expected.  
  
"Highness, we have found an Elf."  
  
  
  
*25 - Since Elves live to be so old, this is like saying 2,500 years old. Just take off the final two zeros, and you have it! I do this a lot in my stories, sorry if it confuses anyone! LoL  
  
Eg: 34= 3,400 years old, you get the picture? ^^  
  
Sorry about the short chapters! I'm working on it! I promise to try to lengthen the next ones, k? ^^ 


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